From within the womb.

I am seeing my life change before my eyes. I've been given love on a level that shouldn't be ignored. The love that overflows from my daughters, husband, and parents is not something I could ever take for granted. Love from friends showing their support and kindness builds me up and I am eternally grateful for what they have shared with me.
But life is changing. Life on a level that is hard to put into words, but I will try.
Life that begins as a child impatiently waiting for that one particular right of passage, the sign of having finally become a woman. The thought that life could be carried inside mine was always something that filled me with such contentment. I felt whole. I could be a mother I thought. Of course this wouldn't be fulfilled until many years later but it was something I could not wait to have happen to me. And when it did with our first child, she truly made me the person I always longed to be, a mother. And for a while, a damn good mother. I was pleased with what I did with her, how hard I loved her and how I would empty my soul on her behalf.Sickness set in not long after she was born. But having a newborn made me move past whatever pain I was experiencing, because at the end of the day I saw this angelic-like-china-doll baby. She was mine, all mine and I couldn't believe it.



Life grew even richer when her sister joined the world. I feared the kind of mother I would be with another little one in tow. Juggling two is sometimes an emotional battle I still fight daily. Do I give too much attention to one and not the other? Am I kind enough to one, or too tough on the other? Up and down, around and around, life spins each day with one question leading to another. Am I a good mother to two children? I am trying, but at times I think failing. Sickness has sucked my spirit up and at times I fear, devoured it. But there are sunny days where I find out that my spirit of love is still there and fighting to get through. However, despite knowing my limitations full and well, occasional dreams of the past come bubbling forward. Dreams I have tried to extinguish on many occasions. But knowing the possibility was still there made it bearable.
And now that possibility is coming to an end.

How does a woman mourn the loss of what makes her unique? Of what makes her special amongst men who walk the earth with all their strong manliness? How does she mourn the loss that life could be carried within her? One day she bares a belly-full with another heart beating inside her and the next there's a real little person to hold onto that is breathing, crying, living, continuing the circle of life.

But then in a matter of minutes that possibility is removed and placed into a sterile silver pan just like that. Sent off for examination by a stranger and then tossed into a hazardous waste container leading to incineration. My womb. The place that cherished my babies before I even could, now destroyed. Why am I being so dramatic? After all, I already know with our current circumstances as they are,  to add another child to our family would be an unwise, unrealistic and probably irresponsible decision to make. My heart is already so full of love now, blessings and beautiful days. In being 100% real, I actually don't want another child. In fact I am straight up terrified of that happening, knowing what my limitations are right now.  But what if that feeling changed in a few years? Chance gone.
 

However, I think it's more than that. It's the strange disregard for the fist sized organ that made me a mother in the first place. It's the ripping it out and tossing it aside without so much of even a thank you. So for me...... while the Dr works to remove a part of me that now causes pain,  I'm certain as I count backwards from ten while they place the mask over my face, tears of appreciation for the 77 weeks (collectively) of precious protection it gave my babies will flow from my eyes.  

So when it's all said & done and March 1st at 11am has come and gone, I know that I am not losing what makes me a woman. I'm still me.  I am simply recreating myself. Finding myself to freedom. Finding a way to not live in fear of unnecessary pain. Not that pain will be gone from my life,  but pain that *maybe* in one area of my body, I don't have to have anymore. Sitting here not doing anything won't fix the problem. So I have to roll the dice. I may win,  I may even lose. But if I don't try I will never know. And as far as dreams go I've had the most important ones fulfilled, which was to become a mother to two beautifully different and wonderfully whimsical daughters. And for that,  I am eternally grateful.

A letter to my mother.

Recently, my mother read my blogs and told me how much she loves them and that I should write more. She continued by saying that I should write about my experiences or about the people I know, just write more. So for the past few weeks I've been thinking about what my next tear jerking, tissue prompting blog would be about. But I didn't want to write about the same things I had already done, so where would my heart strings tug at next?

And then, in a moment, while listening to a song about someone having had so much to say but didn't and was left suffocating with the words they never said, I realized what my next blog would be about. Simply, my mother. I am absolutely certain that if anything ever happened to her, a blog would appear from me with expressions of all I wished I had said, to her, about her and for her. So instead, with thoughts of life and death for some reason fresh on my mind, I will express those thoughts while she can appreciate them. Maybe my emotions stem from the fact that next January will be the 10 year anniversary from the time I thought I may lose my mother to ovarian cancer, or maybe because she is currently being checked for the breast cancer/ovarian cancer gene next week. Either way, something is stirring up my emotions from that cold 2004 winter.

I have a somewhat strange habit of blocking out certain badness from my mind. By that I mean, if a certain experience isn't a good one, I black most of it out. However, the day the dr came out from that very long surgery and said "yes, there was cancer", I remember running away to a bathroom, or an elevator, I'm not sure where I was going, but I remember my husband chasing after me, I remember loosing it wherever we were. I remember the long-ass drive home, and Eric getting pulled over by a state trooper, and me mumbling some miserable words to the state trooper who could apparently see my distress and let us go. But then, I don't remember much more. What happened the next few days, weeks? Where was I? I think I went to see her again while she was recovering over an hour away, and I think she was pretty beaten up. But did I? What kind of daughter was I back then? Yes, I was working full time as a manager in a retail store, with time off being difficult, but that's no excuse. I can't recall if I really wasn't there for her, or if I was just going through the motions, struggling to exist, subconsciously blocking out the scary parts. Before we found all this out, we had been in the middle of moving. We were headed to Florida, permanently. My husband had a job lined up, and I was looking for apartments. But I couldn't leave her. I couldn't crush her spirit that was busy battling this disease. She needed me here. She needed positive, not negative feelings. So we stayed, and we're still here to this day.

But even still, guilt chokes me when I think how I should have been a better daughter. So while your still here mama, I'm sorry I didn't do more then. And though you may not know it, it was my worst nightmare. Constantly questioning how much time I had left with you. Writing this, through my tears, I am reminded of the sick heart I felt with that huge question mark we all had running through our heads. But I still have you. And I appreciate you so much more now. I also enjoy bragging to everyone how despite my naive thoughts and displeasure at the time of your choices, you beat cancer the all natural way. No chemo, no radiation. But with desire and determination, you did it. I was and I am so proud of you for kicking it the way you knew you could.

Now, ten years later, we are closer than ever. It's weird if we go a day without talking, and when we don't talk, I kind of feel-- empty. I'm not sure where you get your energy from, but you never stop. And you never ever stop caring for others. I'm constantly amazed at the amount of love you can hold in that heart. Whether its rushing to the store to get something someone needs, or creating a "cod liver oil pain patch" for someone hurting, making the best homemade chicken noodle soup for someone sick, or just listening to me complain or cry. There are even times, when I've been in such a bad place, either physically or mentally, that my husband though try with all his might to help, will at some point realize that the only one who can help, is my mother. I've seen him practically race to the phone, and it was as if he was administering a morphine drip to someone completely broken. He takes a sigh of relief and steps back as he knows my mom will fix it, whatever it is, she will make me better. Like when your little and sick, the only person in the world that you want is your mommy. She can't always fix it or take the pain away, but in her touch and her soft words, you find comfort. I hope my girls feel that way about me.... I hope I give them the same comfort you have always given me. I hope they love me, half as much as I have always loved you.